


Knocking On Heaven's Door

by Hanna_Tucker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Eventual Romance, Fix-It of Sorts, Haunted Malcolm Reed, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Science Fiction, Sequel, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-07-09 08:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19884793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanna_Tucker/pseuds/Hanna_Tucker
Summary: Trip was dead, he kept telling himself, biting down on the pillow in front him to keep from screaming. Trip was dead, he was dead, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing Malcolm could do to bring him back.~~~~Originally titled "Spellbound"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guardianoffun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Not Like This](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10526628) by [guardianoffun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun). 



> So, guardianoffun gave me permission to write a sequel to the oneshot "Not Like This," which is an amazing (yet at the same time heartbreaking) story. You should check it out! :)

The next several days were a blur for Malcolm. He felt like he was stuck in another one of Crewman Daniels' time loops. The armoury officer was curled up on the cold metal floor of his quarters, still in uniform, cradling a small pillow he had taken from his bunk.

_Malcolm's hand tapped at the comm. panel on beside him._

_"Reed to Engineering," Trip's voice was quick to respond, and Malcolm let out a small breath of relief._

_"What'cha need Mal, we're pretty busy right now."_

_"I'm going to need power diverted to weapons, if I can get these guys off our tail-" he was stopped short at the sound of a yell on the other side, and then the comm. link fizzled out._

Trip was dead, he kept telling himself, biting down on the pillow in front him to keep from screaming. Trip was dead, he was dead, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing Malcolm could do to bring him back. The doorbell made a pleasant chirp. Malcolm ignored it.

How long had it been now? Two weeks? Three? He didn't know and didn't care. His fingernails dug deeper into the cloth as he tried to maintain control of his emotions.

_He prayed that he was wrong, he pleaded with anyone who cared to listen that the name rolling around his head was the wrong one. Tears blurred his vision as his chest tightened painfully. It couldn’t be him, it wasn’t him, this wasn’t happening. He fell to his knees._

_His fingers skimmed the sheet, and he let out a cry as he realised the white sheet was dotted with red. His stomach rolled. Taking a breath, he tugged down the sheet._

_He screamed, despite the burning in his throat. The cold tears that fell did nothing to quell the anger swelling inside him, at the sight of Trip, lying still and white on the floor of sickbay. He felt his heart thumping in his chest, each beat another one Trip would never have._

The doorbell chirped again. Malcolm still ignored it. Soon enough, whoever it was would get tired of waiting and leave. He already been to see Phlox that morning for his arm. He had finished his shift for the day. As far as Malcolm was concerned, there was no reason anyone should be outside his quarters right now.

The door slid open and a pair of feet shuffled in. "Malcolm!" It had to have been Captain Archer, as he was the only one aside from Malcolm himself who could override a security lockout. The disoriented armoury officer was vaguely aware of a pair of arms wrapping around him and lifting him up off the floor. Malcolm let the pillow slide out of his limp hands, his aching body too weary to struggle. He couldn't even remember the trip to Sickbay- just that one moment he was being dragged out of his quarters and the next he was lying on a biobed.

He could hear voices, but his mind was so clouded that they only sounded like indistinguishable murmurs to him. Clouds of grey accompanied by flashes of colour assaulted his vision. _Let me die already... please..._ Right before Malcolm lost consciousness, he could have sworn he heard a familiar, long-sought voice, echoing through the growing blackness of his mind.

But perhaps it was only an illusion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after several days of procrastinating and trying to figure out where I want to go for this story, I finally got my ass in gear and published this chapter. I'm slow going, I know, and I can't apologise enough for it. I'm still not entirely satisfied with this chapter, I feel like it could still use some work. Nevertheless, I hope you all enjoy it!

"I don't want to return to Earth," Malcolm retorted quietly for what had to have been the millionth time as the shuttlepod landed in the docking port. "And I certainly don't want to talk about my feelings to a _stranger."_

"Lieutenant, this is for your own good," Jonathan Archer retorted. "It's clear that Trip's death has affected you a hell of a lot more than we previously thought. We can't have an emotionally compromised armoury officer commanding _Enterprise's_ tactical team." Jonathan turned in his chair, his emerald green gaze locking with Malcolm's. "Malcolm, Trip was my friend too. And if he were here right now, don't you think he'd want you to get better? That he'd want you to move on?"

Malcolm shifted away from the Captain, locking his eyes to rest on one of the shuttlepod's bulkheads.

"Malcolm?"

"Hmm?"

Jonathan gestured to the armoury officer's luggage. "Don't forget your stuff- wouldn't do for you to be halfway to your parents' house only to realise that you've forgotten your toothbrush."

Malcolm appreciated Archer's attempt at humour, failed as it was. The Lieutenant stood from his seat, biting his lip to hold back a resigned sigh as he fumbled with the handle on his luggage. Once said handle had finally been extended, he settled the luggage onto its wheels. Malcolm took a deep breath and stepped out the door of the shuttlepod. He was immediately struck by the crowded environment that was the shuttlepod port. Both those arriving and departing were bustling about the port in such large numbers that it almost overwhelmed the poor armoury officer.

 _Reeds don't get overwhelmed,_ he reprimanded himself silently.

So Malcolm steadied his breathing as he navigated the sea of people, his eyes scanning for his parents- who said that they would be waiting for him. The Lieutenant put his senses on tactical alert. And then he spotted them, nestled safely in a small cafe in the corner of the port. Malcolm made his way over to them, dreading what would no doubt be a very cold reunion, at least on his father's part. Swallowing hard, he stepped up to their table. "Mother. Father." He cringed at the crack in his voice- living on _Enterprise_ for so long had made him a bit more open to the people around him.

_Especially Trip._

Stuart Reed looked up at his son, his expression unchanged. "Ah. Lieutenant Reed. How nice of you to finally show up." Mary was a little more enthusiastic in her greeting.

"Malcolm, would you like to sit down?" Mary asked, her gaze soft.

"That would be lovely, thank you," Malcolm replied, hesitating a moment. Then he pulled out a chair and sat down. And then it was awkwardly quiet. Malcolm had no clue what to say to either Reed and neither Reed knew what to say to him. Finally Mary broke the terrible silence.

"Madeline is at the house right now," Mary told Malcolm. "She'll be staying for a week or two before she has to return to her post." The armoury officer nodded quietly as she continued to speak. "She'll be making Eaton mess for dessert tonight."

"Sounds lovely," Malcolm commented, his voice lacking in fervour.

Stuart set his coffee cup down with a quiet yet authoritative _thump._ "Lieutenant Reed, why _are_ you here?" His dark, stone-like gaze met Malcolm's startled eyes.

"Beg your pardon?"

"You didn't come here just to visit family," Stuart replied. "Something happened on _Enterprise_ , something that left to you unfit for duty, at least for the time being." Malcolm opened his mouth to protest, but Stuart raised his hand for silence. "You can't fool me, Lieutenant- I have been in the Navy, after all. I've seen that look a thousand times before in the eyes of many other men and women. Something obviously happened."

Malcolm snorted derisively. "Fine. A fellow crewman was killed during a hostile encounter with an alien species. And now, since I apparently am suffering from a case of 'post-traumatic stress' and 'depression' as a result of the attack, I have to see a counselor twice a week." The armoury officer started to tremble imperceptibly, the emotional barriers he had put up breaking down again. _"Enterprise_ needs me, but instead of letting me do my job, Captain Archer thought it would be a great idea for me to return to Earth and see this... this... _counselor!"_ He dug his fingernails deeply into the table as the terrible memory hit him hard with a flash.

_"Trip?" he breathed, as he took in the sight of the open uniform and the mess of burns across his chest, shiny red and still weeping. He reached for Trip's face, but it looked all wrong. Pale and sunken, there was nothing to suggest Trip had been talking to him only what, ten minutes before? A sob shook Malcolm, and suddenly the dam was broken._

_He grabbed at the charred edges of Trip's uniform, pulling the man up so that he could hold him to his chest. Breaths came in choked sobs as he searched hungrily for any sign of life on Trip's face._

_"No, please, no Trip, come on this isn't funny-" he gasped. Every feeling he had ever had for Trip, every love sick grin or heart flutter, all came rushing out in one broken whisper._

_"Please, Trip, I love you."_

"Malcolm? Malcolm!"

The distressed urgency in Mary's voice brought the armoury officer back to reality. And suddenly, as time returned to normal, he became very much aware of the tears sliding down his face. "Shit," Malcolm muttered, hurriedly wiping his face with a nearby (thankfully also unused) napkin. "Um, perhaps we should start heading back to the house?" he suggested quietly. "It's a long drive back, even at ninety kilometres an hour."

"Yes, we should," Stuart agreed.

For once, he and his son were actually on the same page.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but I guess I did alright. Constructive criticism appreciated, flames are NOT. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The new story title comes from the song "Knocking on Heaven's Door" by Guns n' Roses.

Malcolm stood in the living room of his parents' house, arms crossed, grey eyes staring into the fire blazing in the brick fireplace- which was perfectly situated in the centre of the wall. It was well past midnight and he knew he should have gone to bed long ago. But the memories of what happened aboard _Enterprise_ still continued to haunt him, especially in his dreams. It was easier, _safer_ , to manage them while he was awake.

As the armoury officer had suspected it would, his first appointment with his counselor went horribly. Malcolm had spent the first half an hour in utter silence, letting the counselor talk her head off, her words going in one ear and out the other. Then, when he was tired of sitting there listening her drone on about... whatever the hell it was she was droning about, he merely stood up and left. Malcolm hadn't even been home for an hour when Archer commed him and reprimanded him for his actions, even declaring that if Malcolm did it again that his "ass would be busted back down to second-class crewman."

The Brit had only half-listened listessly until that point. When Archer had said those words, a memory, in spite of Malcolm's efforts, burst forth into the forefront of his mind.

_"Then go 'head and shoot me, but ya better hope we don't make it, because if we survive, the first thing I'm gonna do is bust your ass back to crewman second-class for insubordination!"_

"Be my guest," Malcolm had growled at Archer, echoing his words from the shuttlepod. "I could use a little less responsibility." Seeing the look on Archer's face, the armoury officer lowered his gaze a fraction and his expression quickly changed from pissed to apologetic. "Sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," the Captain replied softly. "Good night, Lieutenant." With that, the transmission had ended.

And now, as he stood alone in the living room, contemplating it all, Malcolm sighed tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Maybe he really should get some sleep. Wouldn't do to black out in the middle of his session with his counselor tomorrow afternoon. The armoury officer sighed again, though it was more like a shudder than anything else.

That was the moment he noticed something was... _off._ Malcolm's senses clicked on tactical alert. He listened carefully, silently, straining to hear any sort of sound. But that was just it. There was no sound, no sound at all, except for that of his own breathing and the crackling of the now dying fire. The armoury officer reached and unsheathed the small knife he had clipped to his belt and surveyed the room carefully. Nothing was out of place.

Malcolm stepped into the kitchen, switching on the lights. Still nothing. Still no one. But there was _someone_ here. He could feel it. "Hello?" he called out quietly, raising his knife a little higher. "Is there someone here?" And then he felt a slightly warm, feathery touch on his shoulder. Malcolm whipped around. No one was there.

_Am I going mad?_

"Who's there?" Malcolm demanded a little more forcefully. At the same time his heart rate skyrocketed.

_Why are you still doing this to yourself, Malcolm? It wasn't your fault. None of it was._

"The hell...?" Malcolm smacked his forehead lightly. He could tell this thought wasn't his own. He didn't know how or why. He just... _knew._ He shook his head. No. He must be going crazy. That was the only explanation.

_You're not crazy, Mal._

_Mal?_ Malcolm shook his head. "Whatever it is, it's not real," he told himself. "Just ignore it."

_Please, just listen to me-_

"No," Malcolm interrupted. "No. I'm not listening." With that, Malcolm turned stumbled up the stairs to his bedroom. He crawled into bed and smashed part of the pillow up against his ear. Not that it would do much good, but it was something.

 _Mal, please,_ the foreign "voice" pleaded softly.

 _Just ignore it,_ Malcolm told himself. He again felt that feathery touch, this time on his arm. The Brit tore the pillow off his face and sat up, quickly looking around in the darkness. No one was there. He shivered lightly, suddenly feeling chilled to the bone. The strange presence that had invaded his mind was gone now. He was alone.

And that only terrified him further. He didn't know how he was able to fall asleep that night, but he did, eventually.

An hour or two later, Malcolm awoke with a scream. His sweat cold was against his body, tears trailing down his face. The first person to burst through the door was his sister Madeline.

"Malcolm! What's going on?!" The only answer she received, and needed, were Malcolm's choked sobs. She moved to sit down next to her older sibling, gently brushing damp strands of hair from his face. "Shh... it's okay. It's okay."

"No it isn't," Malcolm whispered, his wiry body shuddering. "He's dead. He's dead and there's nothing, absolutely nothing I can do about it." Madeline had questions, as her parents hadn't been exactly forthcoming about what happened to Malcolm on _Enterprise._ But she knew it was better to listen. To allow Malcolm to let it all out. "If I had been down there... maybe I could have saved him. But I wasn't. I was up on the bridge, and-" He shook his head. "When I saw his body... I... he..." 

Madeline pulled Malcolm gently into her arms. And he pressed his face into her shoulder and sobbed softly, unable to continue speaking.


End file.
